Violin
by GreenNebulae
Summary: Rare Ship's Bingo Challenge. Prompt: Instrument "You play?" It's a stupid question with an obvious answer so Sherlock doesn't offer one as turns and takes of his fingerless gloves and jacket, only sends him a look that somehow says 'you're right' and 'you're an idiot' at the same time. Teenlock Victor/Sherlock very brief mention of drugs


**TheDarkestShinobi:** Teenlock, for the Bingo with the Rare Ship Monthly Challenge. This is a reflective story in the mind palace.

 _ **Prompt:**_ Instrument _ **  
**_ _ **Pairing:**_ Sherlock/Victor _ **  
**_

 _ **Story**_

Sherlock gently plucks the strings of the violin in his chair. He lets the gentle notes resonate within him, but the storm inside is not coming from music, its coming from that something missing. He doesn't look away from the spot on the wall he had been absently gazing at for who knows how long. There's nothing to see, nothing to say, he just has to sit in this one place and, however dreadful, feel.

"What are you thinking about?"

Sherlock had noticed John in the room absentmindedly, assuming there would be no question, but his presence is now more pronounced. Sherlock can tell he's been searching for a job and is feeling down, he flirted with a girl downstairs and gave her his number-she won't call- he knows this- and is looking to talk. When Sherlock said he could be silent for days at a time he meant it, whether or not John would come to know that remains to be seen. John sits in the chair he has claimed as his own as he watches Sherlock. The silence feels different now, more comfortable with a friend, but it still hangs over him with emptiness. _What are you thinking about?_ They've got no case on and Sherlock hasn't started experiments, yet, so it is a valid question. He won't answer it, but it is valid. He's thinking of an anniversary, to be honest, but an answer like that will just prompt more questions and gazes. John will take it to mean Sherlock is more _human_ , as if emotions defined a species, and therefore relatable and accountable for his future actions.

Slowly, as he knew it would, the layout of Baker street changes to a dorm room, the smell and sights of London grow older and he himself feels younger.

He's in his mind palace now.

"You play?" It's a stupid question with an obvious answer so Sherlock doesn't offer one as turns and takes of his fingerless gloves and jacket, only sends him a look that somehow says 'you're right' and 'you're an idiot' at the same time. He walks further into his dorm room. Victor is currently the least boring person at Uni and the only person allowed in his room but that doesn't mean he's immune to being stupid at times. It truly is the human condition.

Victor looks so much younger than Sherlock thought he did.

"Play for me." Victor says, because he doesn't ask for much, as he shrugs off his own jacket and sits on the poor excuse for a dorm room couch, the bed. Sherlock shakes his head. "Oh come on, it could be your payment for today." Sherlock looks up at the other with a flat expression.

"I assure you, I have money."

"Oh, I know." Victor offers as he looks back over to the violin he can't imagine the motorcycle loving, drug user, and right arse he may like more than he should playing. "But play for me anyway" Sherlock shoots a glare at him and Victor offers a teasing smile "please?"

With a sigh as if the weight of worlds were on his shoulder Sherlock moves over to the open case and grabs the violin. Victor grins as he leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. He folds his hands in his lap and gets ready to hear this. He hopes Sherlock sucks, honestly.

His grin fades as he watches Sherlock handle the violin, it's not the careless or abusive way he had imagined but that of a player. Sherlock tenderly tucks the violin under his chin and lifts the stick.

"It's a bow," Sherlock corrects the thought Victor doesn't voice. Victor notices the voice is different somehow; more reserved, more tender, as if the presence of the instrument itself changes Sherlock to something different. Sherlock brings the bow across the violin strings and suddenly Victor can easily replace the jeans and ripped T shirt for a suit or tuxedo and have Sherlock look the same. He can imagine Sherlock as a posh git instead of a punk teen in that instant. He wonders if that's what Sherlock is running from, his richer upbringing.

And Sherlock has to have a good upbringing to know and love an instrument like that. Sherlock doesn't have a screaming father or dying mother. He's loved and that love shows in his music. Sherlock loses himself and begins to sway lightly in his dying and Victor watches mesmerized. Victor suddenly feels guilty for the drugs, why give someone who can do something like that something that could destroy it? Victor uncrosses his ankles and leans forward, lost in the music and dare he admit it, Sherlock. When the last notes are barely more than scattered oscillations in the air Sherlock turns back to Victor, violin still placed under the chin and lifts an eyebrow. He's flirtatious, hoping he can get more data on sex tonight but Victor is oblivious. He's staring at him with an expression Sherlock doesn't recognize yet.

"That was wonderful."

Sherlock finds himself taking to the praise like any child would, standing straighter and smiling, feeling warm and happy. "Thank you." He remembers as he moves the violin from under his chin and lets the bow point down to the ground. He tilts his head before moving to replace them in their case.

"Please, one more?" Victor asks this time, leaning back and smiling so softly that Sherlock offers a small half smile in return before nodding. Without any resignation or huff he brings the instrument back to where it belongs and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath before starting and Victor swears they are breathing together. This time Sherlock faces Victor the entire time and begins playing a piece he's barely practiced. It showcased the skills Victor praised and had romantic feelings and undertones. Sherlock knows other difficult pieces but this one feels right. He watches Victor push himself so that he's sitting at the edge of the bed and knows what's coming. Still, he carries on with the piece. It's a six or seven minute piece and Victor gets closer to just standing and kissing him with every passing minute. Sherlock likes the look in his eye that he can't recognize.

When Sherlock finishes, the last notes hanging in the air like the goodbyes of a lover, Victor begins to stand very slowly. Sherlock doesn't move. When Victor is fully standing, he and Sherlock are hardly inches apart. They breathe the same air and share the same space as Victor gently takes the violin and bow from him and places it on the desk. Sherlock feels electrified and he's not sure why. He's kissed and fucked this man before, but this feels too intense. Victor smiles gently before taking a side of his face in each hand, they are such warm and big hands, and bringing Sherlock down to kiss him.

"Beautiful," he pauses "you're fantastic" Sherlock pulls back slightly to gaze at his face and find the lie, but it's so genuine Sherlock starts to blush, the electrifying feeling comes back and suddenly he's glad he met Victor. Sherlock smiles widely and Victor is so surprised and happy that all he can do is kiss him again.

"God help me, I think I'm starting to fall for you" he admits, knowing Sherlock would find it to be true, and in that moment, Sherlock could've sworn he loved Victor more than the drugs.

Neither one had destroyed him yet.

"Sentiment." Sherlock suddenly says to the now empty room in 221B. He looks to the spot John had last occupied. The room feels emptier somehow. Sherlock lets out a breath. "It's a chemical defect found on the losing side." Sherlock stands and places the violin lovingly into its case.

"And no one can win all the time."

 **TDS:** Thoughts?


End file.
